


6 Million Years: An overnight story

by ValorousOwl



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: F/F, F/M, I shit talk on Getaway because he's a good villain, I'm going WAAAAAAAAAAAY out of canon for this one, I'm not letting them bury Tailgate, I'm reachin and I know it, M/M, Multi, Paratron happens for reasons, implied getaway/tailgate but it's not seriously considered
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-14 15:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13011027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValorousOwl/pseuds/ValorousOwl
Summary: Tailgate is left to rust on a dead world. Connected to his beloved by dreams he shouldn't be having he's forced to make some tough choices to become the person he wants to be. Meanwhile a spider spins webs carelessly and a murdercopter tries his claws at being an amica.  They might all fail miserably but at least they have each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not letting them bury Tailgate. That being said this chapter is mostly fluff/filler and set up for the next one.

A few muffled bangs in the dim blue grey light of a forgotten tomb announced the presence of the occupant to no one in particular. It was a fitting end for a long-thought-dead mech. He was buried deep underground, surrounded by yet more dead mechs in and above ground on a dead world once ruled by their race’s equivalent of the grim reaper, who was himself, of course, dead. Everything was dead on the Necroworld, save the bright blue flowers that signified a life snuffed out by the actions of another. Now they were joined by white and purple flowers, alien to this world, tracked into the dirt by careless stabilizers. Soon enough they'd be the only living things on this planet. Soon enough he'd be dead. 

 

Tailgate paused with his small fists still pressed to the black metal ceiling. He hyperventilated. Frustration filled him up, spilling over like coolant from his optics. He kept pounding weakly and miserably against the top of his tomb. Other than a few dents he wasn't making headway. The ambient radiation was taking the edge off his strength already and the tons of dirt above him were not so easily unsettled. 

 

“come on, please, please I don't want to stay here, please come back, Fangry, someone, anyone!” he begged, resorting to clawing, leaving shallow grooves and streaks of paint behind. Still the metal above wouldn't give. It seemed Kaput had made good on his word, the chamber truly was impenetrable. At least in that direction. “I'm alone, I don't want to die like this...I don't want to be alone… I need to get back to Cyclonus and everyone…. I can't …”

 

He let his servos flop back on this chest. His digits tapped nervously until they clicked against the glass vial he was wearing. He pulled back, hesitated, then picked it up, raising it to where he could see it. The energon inside the vial sloshed and glowed in the small space. “oh Cyclonus I've done it now. I'm sorry, I'm gonna be late again,”

 

Tailgate squirmed in place. He hadn't been particularly claustrophobic but he had already been scared enough of the procedure. Very quickly circumstances had changed his mind on the matter. Maybe it was the fact his only living contact was dead that made it unbearable. Sorry Kaput, but friend was too personal for someone he'd gotten murdered. Maybe it was the thought of never seeing his Conjunx again. 

No, that was only part of it. Tailgate knew he was likely to die in this hole and he was more or less at peace with dying in a hole. 

 

_ If you walked away from dying in a hole only to end up there again you probably deserved it, _ he mused.

 

The thing bothering him most was the  _ way _ he'd ended it with his Conjunx. He should have done it better. He should have been honest for once in his spark forsaken life. He should have known better than to try and handle it alone. In doing so he'd pushed away the one and only mech in the whole universe who'd ever actually treated him like a person and not just a tool. He'd hurt the one person who had protected and loved him. 

He spent a long time thinking about it and playing the memories of it over and over in his head. 

If he focused really hard, he could hear Cyclonus’ voice.

“ _ Come on Tailgate-- time to go. _ ” 

“ _ Actually I--I think I’m staying. _ ” He said simply, feeling the words leave his vocalizer and be swallowed by the dark night. The cool night breeze eased his tension and let him sit relaxed when he really wanted to get up and run. Run far and fast and maybe forever. “ _ Sooo, yes. That’s about the size of it. I want to stay. So I’m staying. _ ” 

“ _ For how long? _ ” Cyclonus’ voice had a note to it. It doesn’t waver, no tremors or trepidation but a note of something that can’t be fear. Tailgate knows every note of the melody that is Cyclonus’ voice and he knows what it means; he won’t be getting out of this cleanly. 

“ _ I think, _ ” he gathers his courage, all that he can muster and all of his lies and bravado. “ _ Maybe permanently? _ ” 

It’s not enough. 

“ _ We should discuss this, _ ” Cyclonus says in the way that he is Cyclonus, tall and steady and unwavering. The immovable object that is slowly being eroded by the unstoppable force that is Tailgate and he knows it. 

That raises his hackles because of all things, Cyclonus has known Tailgate was violent and dangerous and carried the burden of this secret knowledge alone, and took the pain of it all on his own because he is Cyclonus, resolute, indefatigable and unbreakable Cyclonus who can handle anything and shrug off death. Cyclonus who came back from the dead universe and lived twice and who would tear down the sky and pluck every last star from the heavens for the offense of daring to shine where Tailgate’s spark might be harmed. For a minute it gives Tailgate all he needs to proceed. Had it not been for Whirl Cyclonus would never have even told him! Anger fills his chest because  _ how dare he  _ claim right to protect him and not allow Tailgate to do the same for him. 

“ _ Discuss this? Since when have we discussed  _ **_anything_ ** ?” He spat out, standing to be closer to Cyclonus’ height, to try and bring them both to some same level and make him see. It really was the truth, they never discussed anything, sure they talked about everything, but they’d always run headfirst into action, together, and it’d always been alright. For all that talking could have saved them so much sparkache, it wasn’t their style.

_ “If you want us to stay here--if that’s what you want, then… _ ” Cyclonus hesitates for only nanoseconds. For him this pause is great, greater than any than Tailgate has seen him hold. “ _ Yes. We’ll stay. _ ”

Just like that it’s over. Cyclonus will give up his dreams for him and Tailgate can’t abide that.

“ _ Cyclonus… _ ” he groans and shakes his head. “ _ Cyberutopia’s always meant more to you than to me _ .” A lie in some ways and truth in others. It will always mean more to Cyclonus for all that it is but Tailgate wanted to achieve that goal by his side. “ _ It’s the closest you’ll get to the Cybertron of your youth. The Cybertron you loved. _ ” 

Tailgate would never admit it but as beautiful as it was in their brief foray into the past, he’d never known the old Cybertron in his two weeks of youth. No momentary beauty could foster love so easily in his spark. He’d never have love for a world that could abandon him, those like him and others so easily. But he loved the bits and pieces Cyclonus showed him. He loved the melodies that rumbled and rang from deep in his chest and the way the cities of old Cybertron made Cyclonus pause in a reverent daze. He loved those parts for how much Cyclonus loved them. It wasn’t nearly the same thing. 

Tailgate gathers his courage again. He tries so hard to imitate that tone of finality, of knowing 100% what he was doing that he’s heard in the likes of Cyclonus and Ultra Magnus and Ratchet and Megatron and so many others but not himself, never Tailgate unsure of the world and himself. He pretends he does.“ _ I think you should go. _ ” 

Cyclonus looks hurt. Actually hurt. He took a deadly barrage of rifle fire before and walked it off better than he’s taking this. His eyes narrow and his shoulders set, he looks down on Tailgate in a way he’s never looked at him, but Tailgate knows  _ that  _ look anyway. Not quite intimidation, but at least a couple parts business, a few spoons of bargaining, and just a dash of definitely not fear covered by a generous serving of pride.

“ _ You’re right. _ ” But it doesn’t sound like that. He turns on his heels and stomps off. His strides are not petulant, but long and angry like he wants to kill something. There’s spite in his voice as he snaps out his “ _ Goodbye _ .” Short and sweet. Good riddance. 

Tailgate let’s his gaze fall, his helm ticks down a notch or two and the tension drains from his body. All the anger fades out, replaced by sadness. Thank the Allspark it was so easy. Why was it so easy? Why didn’t Cyclonus fight him?

“ _ No _ .” The word cuts across his brief reverie with the same finality as all the words before. Cyclonus is coming back, his stride twice as quick and his optics desperate. For once in his life he’s being completely open and he’s fighting for what he wants. He’s allowing his vulnerability to show as only Tailgate was ever graced to see.

“ _ I don’t want you to leave me, _ ” he said, softly. 

“ _ But Cyberutopia… _ ” Tailgate cut in. 

“ _...Is nothing without you, _ ” He says earnestly. His optics are piercing, filled with desperate passion. It was unlike anything Tailgate had ever seen. He broke Cyclonus’ gaze, taking a few moments to gather his thoughts.

Never had anyone thought him of any true worth and here was the greatest mech he’d known in his short life, telling him he was worth more than the Paradise of their greatest warriors. Tailgate suddenly felt very small. Since he’d mutated into his newfound strength, he’d never felt as helpless as he had in the past. But now he was humbled, cowed yet again by the simple truth from Cyclonus. 

That too was like Cyclonus. He only had the truth to give, no matter how painful or beautiful it was. Cyclonus never sugarcoated things. If he was telling Tailgate he was more than Cyberutopia he truly meant it. Tailgate’s thoughts continued circling over and over, as overwhelming as floodwaters. His optics felt hot and bright, wet as lubricant gathered behind his visor but didn’t show. Cyclonus’ gaze was heavy on his back, draped like a thick blanket and he had to answer him. 

“ **_What_ ** _? I don’t know what you want me to say _ !” He snapped out suddenly. 

“ _ I don’t understand what’s happening _ !” Cyclonus admitted. 

“ _ What’s happening is I’ve changed and you haven’t. It’s no one’s  _ **_fault_ ** _. _ ” Tailgate managed, a weak excuse he knew and probably one that Cyclonus would see through. So he changed tactics, he’d go on the offensive, attack his pride. If he hurt Cyclonus enough, maybe he’d finally see reason and let him go. 

“ _ But the thought of us spending the rest of our lives  _ **_joined at the hip_ ** _ \-- _ ” he shook his head. “ _ I can’t. I really can’t. That’s not my future. I thought it was, but-- _ ”  he sucked in a harsh intake. “Y _ ou and me…. I don’t know if we’re that good together.” _  That was an understatement. Tailgate knew he wasn’t. Now more than he could count on one hand, had Cyclonus ended up scrapped to hell and near dead because he was protecting Tailgate. No they weren’t good together. He could never be good for someone who had to constantly put his life on the line for him.

Silence for a brief moment, a sparkbeat. 

“ _ I don’t believe you _ .” the words were so soft Tailgate missed them. Cyclonus never hesitated. 

“ _ Sorry _ ?” 

“ _ I said,  _ **_I don’t believe you_ ** _ , _ ” Cyclonus repeated, as if convincing himself. 

Tailgate didn’t hesitate. Actions spoke louder than words after all. He opened a subspace panel on his hip and removed his most beloved token, the vial of innermost energon glowed a bright and lovely pink in the dark of the night. 

“ _ Here _ .” he held it out, shoving it in Cyclonus’ direction to drive the point home.

“ _ No _ .” Cyclonus flinched, actually dodging backwards as if Tailgate had pointed a gun or a bomb at him instead of his own lifeblood. 

“ _ It’s your innermost energon, not mine. _ ” He insisted, following after him. Each step backward was matched by two quick steps from Tailgate.

“ _ But _ ,” Cyclonus’ optics searched his face, looking for some hesitation or some trick. “ _ I gave it to you _ .” 

“ **_Take it_ ** _ , _ ” Tailgate said, thrusting it at him again. At the time he was grateful having been built with a visor and mask to hide his own face. He looked resolved even when he wasn't. 

Again he shook it in Cyclonus’ face and Cyclonus instinctively batted it out of his hand, grabbing his arm and leaning down, face to face with his Conjunx Endura. “ **_NO._ ** ”

The energon flew from Tailgate’s hand at the action and he jerked back out of Cyclonus’ grip and stepped back away from him. Both he and Cyclonus looked to where the vial had fallen. Somehow miraculously it was intact.

He glanced back up at Cyclonus for the briefest moment. He'd seen it in his optics, beautiful red optics like the setting sun, as his spark broke. Tailgate had stared him dead in the optics and watched as his spark broke into a million pieces. Cyclonus said nothing more, sadness worn tight to his plates like a cloak. Then he turned and left. Tailgate watched him leave again with slow, deliberate strides as if he had to force himself to go rather than stay and continue fighting with him. Tailgate watched until he was gone. Until there was nothing but the cold night air. For a long time he stayed there in the field, unmoving, then he slowly walked over and dropped to the grass and retrieved the token. He held it to his chest over his spark. 

 

_ “This is for the best. This is for Cyclonus’ sake,” _ he reassured himself. 

 

Now the thought of it all filled him with cold dread and regrets. 

 

Cyclonus deserved better. Far better. He deserved a Conjunx that didn't always cause trouble for him, who didn't lie to him and scheme and hurt him. Someone who could stand by his side and not use him as a shield. Even with superpowers Tailgate had utterly failed at that one thing.

 

_ Maybe I deserved Getaway. We're two of a kind _ . he thought bitterly.

 

He tenderly rubbed against the glass of the vial in his hand, soothing himself with the weight and warmth of Cyclonus’ innermost energon. He sighed softly and was deeply glad he’d kept it, despite trying to get Cyclonus to take it back. It was far less lonely like this.

He hadn't wanted to hurt Cyclonus but there was no way he'd have left him alone or even allowed him to risk this for a chance at being normal again without being by his side for the whole procedure. Chance was this wouldn’t have worked even if Fangry hadn’t sabotaged it all. He didn’t want Cyclonus to have to watch him die. He'd have stayed with him and either been attacked by Fangry or he'd have missed his only chance to find Cyberutopia. 

No one deserved it more than Cyclonus after all he'd been through. 

“I said I’d rather die than risk hurting him or hold him back again,” Tailgate sighed. “Well, looks like I get my wish.” 

 

Kliks were like solarcycles. A megacycle passed in the span of a decacycle. Thoughts filled Tailgates empty processor and spiralled down the drain. The longer his solitude spanned the deeper his desperation and his loneliness grew. 

At some point he began talking to Cyclonus to fill the silence. All the things he'd said already. All the things he wanted to say and didn't. Tailgate spoke to him about so many things that came to his mind. 

Even so it helped to speak to Cyclonus. 

At some point Cyclonus began to speak back to him. Tailgate was shocked into silence many times and Cyclonus too would lapse into silence without any response. Tailgate eventually realized it was all a fabrication of his lonely mind. 

Even so, to have Cyclonus speaking to him again eased his sparkache if only for a little while. 

 

Tailgate realized his chronometer was reading wrong. At some point it only read the date as three orns into his imprisonment. Perhaps it has stopped then. Had it been so long?

Cyclonus told him it was so. He missed him. He was angry with him but he missed him deeply,  _ when are you coming home _ ?

Tailgate brushed it off as his own wish fulfillment. But even if it was his subconscious or whatever those fancy words Rung used were then at least he knew the words about his chronometer were true. 

Cyclonus wouldn't lie to him.

 

Neither would a clock to be honest, but he's left Whirl’s gift to him at home, on the Lost Light in their hab suite, on the table between their berths. 

 

He wondered if they took it back by now. He wondered if Cyclonus was at home, sleeping alone. 

 

_ I am.  _

 

He hoped not. 

 

Then after time immeasurable and loneliness deep enough to drown in, Tailgate did what Kaput warned he wouldn't. 

 

He slept and he dreamed.


	2. Lost some space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's going on with Cyclonus anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HOLIDAYS HAVE CHAPTER TWO

_Cyclonus._

 

_Cyclonus, you aren't alone are you?_

 

_Cyclonus._

 

_Cyclonus are you happy?_

 

**_I hope you are._ **

 

_I'm sorry, Cyclonus. I'm no good at this._

 

**_I know. I don't mind._ **

 

_..._

  


If Cyclonus had to pinpoint when things started to get worse, it probably would have been in the months following their initial departure from the Necroworld.

 

It was still yet some time getting to Cybertron without the theoretical jump engine and even with an Ace Pilot miracles weren't exactly prevalent. No, if he had to guess, Primus or whoever it was in charge of doling out miracles had tired of coming to their aid. They'd been greedy. They'd pushed the proverbial data transfer file too far and whoever it was had washed their servos of the lot of them once and for good.

 

He knew this because Whirl was incessantly in his face.

 

If they didn't have such limited quarters he might have given in and fought, or perhaps fragged, Whirl to fill whatever need had the helicopter literally hovering around him. It was getting beyond tiring and annoying, but putting him through a wall wasn't an option here.

 

In part he believed that Tailgate’s sudden exit from his life probably didn't help the matters of trust or his worsening mood. He knew for a fact that was why Whirl seemed to be trying his claws at being some imitation of an amica endura. He knew but he didn't believe it. Whirl had said his world began and ended with Whirl and no one else and Cyclonus chose to take that at spark value. So this meant Whirl either pitied him (unlikely and unwanted), felt guilty (unlikely and also _why_ ) or was doing it out of boredom (bingo) and Cyclonus would not be anyone's plaything again.

 

Whether his emotions were sparkfelt or simply some new way to torment Cyclonus, he had no way of knowing for sure. Whirl was a mystery the best of times and a mess of Froidian impulses and superego driven life choices. His truth was obfuscated under a thousand layers of lies and half truths and words twisted like rotor blades. Cyclonus had no way to know what was truth with him.

 

Still, he was willing to bet significant shanix on the former, but any time he was willing to endure and entertain Whirl’s 'affections’ the latter seemed pitbent on making him doubt his intentions.

 

Ergo he'd had a three month long headache (Whirl) and no way of coping with it (due to Whirl). In the end when he could not engage in self-immolation, he sought relief in stasis mode. He did not need it but the dreams were a welcome respite from reality lately. And if Ratchet or Ultra Magnus, and really no one else important, were concerned about his changed sleeping patterns, he could put them off with a simple, “You try staying awake through Whirl’s constant hassling,” at which point Brainstorm or Drift might take pity on him (disgusting) and entertain the murdercopter for a couple megacycles.

Cyclonus could pinpoint when this changed though.

 

Whirl had conked out a little before him, leaving Cyclonus time to do some light reading with what was surely his last surviving datapad. At some point though the writing grew dull, the author did not have a good grasp on pacing and tended to be unnecessarily focused on dull and mundane parts of everyday life or forced romance to pad out the spaces between explosions and action sequences that amounted to fancy twirling through the air and grand poses that would get anyone shot in real life. If the rest had been interesting, he could have forgiven the unrealistic fighting. He couldn't suspend his disbelief long enough as it was. As the glyphs began to blur and he came to the realization he'd read the same line over and over three or more times now, he gave up, turning it off and putting it back in his subspace.

 

He shuttered his optics and vented slow and deep. He was exhausted, mentally, and sought an outlet of some sort. His active mind fell to silence and soon images of times long past bloomed before his optics. He played through files of Tetrahex, but it wasn't long before he thought of soaring over the city he loved, with the minibot he loved carefully and perfectly seated in his cockpit.

 

He turned his mind to fights he'd fought, and won, but Whirl chased him there and when he didn't it was another he didn't want to dream of who once also fit perfectly in his cockpit and held his spark quite close.

 

Despite his unrestful mind, he soon found himself dreaming.

 

Cyclonus was walking down a long hall in his holoform. The hall was darkly lit and she was aware of passing others although he could not see them. She knew where the scene changed because she could feel the thick, fuzzy heft of a velvet curtain as she pushed past it and heard as her heels clicked across polished hardwood.

 

She came to a stop automatically, her dreamself seemingly knowing what to do. The lights came up blindingly bright as her eyes adjusted and she found a woman standing across from her. Her hand was outstretched in offering though her head was tilted down to face the floor as she bowed. Cyclonus took her hand and she fluidly stood up and Cyclonus took her in. Whirl had followed even here it seemed, though she was far more mature than Cyclonus ever had seen either be. She was clad in (some kind of suit) with (some kind of braided hairstyle with long pigtails) her lips and eye were painted with Cyclonus’ colors and her grasp was warm as she led Cyclonus into a dance.

When she smiled she seemed more herself, wild and biting and somehow that soothed Cyclonus more than anything else about her cleaned up form.

 

Together they clattered and clicked across the stage to a song Cyclonus couldn't quite hear, sung faintly by somewhere in the audience by a single voice.

 

She thought she knew the song. She could quite hear and there was something she was forgetting but Whirl was being distracting as ever. As they wandered closer to the edge of the stage she could hear a bit better, and as Whirl dipped her she caught a glance of the woman in the audience. Pale, with a soft, round face, long silver hair and sad azure eyes. Cyclonus knew her without having ever met her, she knew the face of her once conjunx. Or rather, she knew the facade.

She watched the petal-pink lips of her dream-conjured lover as she sang, feeling deep in her spark the same deep ache of loneliness and love that she felt in her waking moments. Her face ached just below her left eye.

 

I’ve got my own!

In the city of shining glass

The lovers wait at the wine-dark energon seas

I have one too….

My lover waits for me,

A megacycle or a mega cycle apart

the time feels the same

The paths that wind away from you

Will one cycle bring me back

 

I’ve got my own,

Far away in the glimmering past,

When the world shined in gold and platinum,

The twisting words and violent songs

An eternity spent asleep and dreaming of you alone,

The stars stretch between us and I wish on every one,

What price would I pay,

Just for one more day,

Or even one cycle more with you?

 

I’ve got my own,

I had one….

But I lost you….

 

 _Lost_ ? She thought. She couldn’t resist huffing at the implication. Cyclonus was never lost, not in 6 million years and never again. Some moments she _felt_ lost. Sometimes she might have felt alone. At times like that, Whirl would show up and she would never really know peace so long as they were both conscious.

 

“You can’t lose what you throw away,” She spat out, meeting the sole audience member’s eyes. “How _dare_ you say you lost me.”

 

“I suppose that was a little too hopeful, wasn’t it?” Not-Tailgate said.

Whirl spun Cyclonus away from the edge of the stage again. She seemed determined to keep the two away, a truth Cyclonus knew in the back of her mind and refused to see. Annoyance or not, wasn’t Whirl all Cyclonus had left? She couldn’t completely push her away. Whirl had gotten her into all this, and it seemed they’d go out together.

 

“Still, It makes me happy to see you one last time.” Not-tailgate called and the lights went down again.

Cyclonus awoke with a shout, which startled Whirl awake.

 

Whirl, as everyone knew, punched when startled awake out of reflex.

 

Once he’d begun it was fairly hard to get him to stop. Which was unfortunate for poor Chromedome who had walked into that punch. It took several minutes, Cyclonus, Ultra Magnus and Ratchet to finally separate and properly wake Whirl. After which Cyclonus had to take responsibility and write a report besides.

 

Whirl was completely unapologetic. In fact he spent the time he was supposed to be writing his portion of the report standing in place and bellowing like an oxen.

“You can’t possibly still be startled,” Cyclonus hissed at him after a moment. “You’re awake, aren’t you?”

Whirl continued his bellowing.

“It’s his way of trying to intimidate the others to make up for his loss, though it’s probably not a real threat.” Rung explained as he passed through to give his usual eval of Whirl’s actions.

 

Cyclonus frowned at Whirl but continued his writing. When whirl tired of his shrieking he instead moved to crowd Cyclonus as a form of affection (irritation) and comfort (for being woken up).

 

For better or for worse, it seemed Cyclonus was well and truly stuck with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be fair this is whirl right now  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SywExJR4lrI
> 
> one note: I do use masculine pronouns for their bot forms and feminine for their holoforms where applicable. So Chromedome and Rewind would use he for both, Nautica and Lotty would use she for both, Tailgate, Cyclonus and Whirl use he for bot form and she for holoform, Ultra Magnus is the only exception using he for both since he was stated as such and keeping the form for sentimental reasons.


End file.
